It was your birthday. Your 25th birthday.

We loved joking around how for a few months, you were 3 years younger than me. It was joke, which only you and I knew. It wasn't funny, it wasn't unique, or even original, but it was ours.

I remember how happy you were last year.

You were excited, and you'd poke me all the time, about what I was going to get you. I thought it was childish, because I felt gifts were more or less personal, and a surprise. I wanted to give you something grand, but my stupid financial reasoning got in the way, but you were happy with that lipstick. That's all you wanted.

I didn't really find it enough, so I ended up getting you things you'd use daily. It was a bunch of random things, but I hope you liked them, Shubhangi.

When we first talked, it was around your birthday.

You were excited, and I failed to fathom. You were 23 then, that is still fairly old, right?

Birthdays make sense when you're small, but they lose their novelty when you grow old. That's how I've looked at birthdays. They never felt anything more than a normal day, rather, they felt more of a reminder of my own mortality. It is a pessimistic approach, the glass half-empty kind, yet it is what my genuine feelings about it were.

I have happy memories of celebrating my birthday from when I was small. Growing up meant something then. To be older than your peers, even if it were only for a few months, moving up grades, each year was a reminder that my life was slated for a change. When you're young, all you're concerned about is growing up. The day felt special, because it felt like the entire world came together to celebrate it with you. Your parents, siblings, friends, everyone you hold dear, come together to spend time with you. When you're small, that's all your world entails.

As you grow older, you realize the world is a little larger than that, and certainly, not everyone cares for your birthday as much as you do, and I suppose this indifference rubbed off me.

This is a notion I held onto as I grew, gradually strengthening as I began to label those who engaged in grand gestures on their birthday as superficial.

Stupid, Judgmental. Maybe I was envious, I don't really know.

Funny how you changed my mindset, Shubhangi.

You were so excited for my birthday, even more than I was. I wasn't sure how a single day can be so special, yet there you were, pulling all strings under the sun.

You made my birthday special. You, alone, in all of the universe knew how to make it special.

A cake you baked yourself, a beautiful shirt you thought would look good on me. People would call this simple, but to me Shubhangi, it was the grandest gesture of them all. Never in my entire life had anyone made this day feel as special as you did.

I talked of how the world doesn't care, but at that moment, you were my entire world. You were all that mattered to me. I didn't need anything else, I only needed you, Shubhangi, my dearest. You reminded me how the world isn't literal in nature, it's just you, and me. You reminded me of the child-like joy I once forgot.

It was special day, Shubhangi, and it will continue to be the day I hold close to my heart.

The last time we met, was just after your birthday. If only I knew what was to come, I would have never left you.

I talked of how birthdays were a reminder of one's mortality, but this thought never deterred you. You were always the glass half-full, yet fate decided to take you away. I wish it was me Shubhangi, who died in your stead. I think of this everyday. You deserved to live more than me, you deserved to celebrate your birthdays, all of them, you deserved a happy life. Why does a pessimist, with nothing going on in their life get to live, and you don't?

I wish you were here today, Shubhangi.

We'd have celebrated your birthday. I'd have done everything to make you the happiest. Your smile, I miss it, and now, I will never see it again.

Happy Birthday, my dear Shubhangi, rest in peace, until I see you again.